One Unhappy Horse

by C. S. Adler

  Friday afternoon, Jan was eager to get into the matador suit. She gave Dove a quick hello, got the box of fudge, and raced over to present it to Mattie, whom she hadn't seen all week. Amelia was sitting alone in the shade on the back patio.

  "Hi," Jan said. "It's me. The girl with the horse you met the other day when you were walking with Mattie?"

  "Oh, yes. I remember," the dignified woman said. Her head had been tilted toward the mountains. Now she turned it toward Jan. "They're there, aren't they?" she asked. "The mountains? I can't see them anymore, but I suspect they're still there."

  "They're red right now because the sun's going down soon," Jan said.

  "Yes, I remember." Amelia's slight smile barely lifted her lips.

  "Is Mattie around?"

  "Sulking in her room. Her daughter was supposed to take her out for lunch, so Mattie spent the whole morning boasting about how she was going out. And then the daughter came by and gave her some wilted daisies and left. Not a word about the lunch. My sons would never do that to me. They don't come often, but at least they come when they say they will."

  "That sounds pretty mean," Jan said.

  "Selfish is more like it. I suspect Mattie spoiled her daughter because she was an only child."

  "I'm an only child," Jan said.

  "Well, are you spoiled?"

  "I don't think so. At least, not very."

  "Good for your folks, then. They must have brought you up right."

  "I'm going to go find Mattie," Jan said. She went inside. A woman with saggy cheeks and dyed brown hair that showed a couple of inches of white roots was reading the newspaper. She stared briefly at Jan without smiling or speaking. Jan nodded at her and glanced in the kitchen hoping to see Stella, but nobody was there. She went to Mattie's room—her own room less than a year ago, although that was hard to believe.

  "Come in," Mattie said quietly when Jan knocked on the door.

  "Happy birthday," Jan said, holding the box out as she stepped inside. There sat Mattie in a flowered dress with a pink silk scarf around her neck facing Stella, who was sitting on a footstool. The whites of Mattie's eyes were pink as if she'd been crying, and she was clutching a handkerchief.

  "Well, look who's here!" she said, her voice rising with delight. "My young friend. How nice to see you."

  "I came to wish you a happy birthday," Jan said. She thrust the box at Mattie again.

  "My goodness! Can you believe it, Stella? Look! The child knows it's my birthday. And what's this?" She received the box with much care, as if it might hold precious cargo.

  "Just some candy I made for you," Jan said. "I'm not much of a cook. I hope it's all right."

  "Oh, I can't believe it!" Mattie said. "You made something for me? That's just the sweetest—" She hopped up and embarrassed Jan to no end by hugging her, especially since Mattie's head only came to the middle of Jan's chest. Jan grimaced at Stella, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  "See," Stella said. "I told you everybody loves you, Mattie." Stella got up. "I'll leave you two and get back to work now."

  While Mattie was fussily opening the box of candy, Stella walked past Jan and bent to whisper in her ear, "Thanks for coming, kiddo."

  Nothing would do but Jan had to eat a piece of her own candy with Mattie. Over and over, Mattie told her how delicious it was, repeating that she couldn't believe that Jan had made it for her. Jan didn't remember ever getting so much gratitude for anything she'd done.

  "So how's your horse? What's his name again?"

  "Dove," Jan said. "He's got to have an operation."

  Mattie wanted the details and Jan told her all about it.

  "Your mother's going to take out a loan from the bank?" Mattie said. "My, she must love you a whole lot to do that."

  Jan nodded, reluctant to talk about the loan. It weighed on her conscience because she knew what a dreadful burden it would be on Mom. "You look pretty in that dress," Jan told Mattie truthfully.

  "Do I, honey? Well, I got dolled up because—Well, I thought I was going somewhere special, but—" She shrugged. Absently, she rotated the ring on her hand. "My daughter gave me a birthday gift, too," she said finally. She indicated the droopy flowers in a vase on the green dresser. "Daisies are one of my favorites. She always remembers my birthday with something nice."

  The dresser stood cheek by jowl with another made of heavy dark wood. The green dresser matched a green bed frame and chair that were obviously Mattie's side of the overstuffed room. Even without the occupants of the room being present, their furniture described the difference between the two women. Mattie's light green wood pieces were prettily decorated with flowers. Amelia's massive carved dresser and bed looked impressive and expensive.

  "Do you like daisies, too?" Mattie asked.

  "Uh-huh," Jan said, although she didn't admire that sad bouquet. "I like your ring," she offered in an attempt to change the subject.

  Mattie's face lit up. She immediately held her hand out for Jan to see the square green stone surrounded by smaller stones. "My husband gave me this. It's a real emerald, and those are real diamonds around it. It cost way more than he could afford, but he said he had to give me something as special as I was. He always said sweet things like that. He was a loving man."

  "Were you married a long time?"

  "We were married twenty-five years before he died. I had twenty-five of the most happy years—That's lucky, isn't it? Not many people can claim a quarter of a century of wedded bliss. But now I've been a widow forty years. Imagine. I can't imagine it myself."

  Jan was good at math. "So you're about eighty-five today, Mattie?"

  She giggled. "That's right, eighty-five, but you better tell me I don't look it or I'll be mad at you."

  "You don't look it," Jan said sincerely.

  "Well," Mattie said. "When I brush my hair, I see all eighty-some years in the mirror, but, anyway, I'm glad to be alive still. And sure glad to see you. You made this the happiest birthday I've had in years, honey. I mean it, really."

  Jan didn't know how to leave after that heartfelt statement. She asked if Mattie was going to have dinner soon, and Mattie said, "Not for a while. Want to go for a walk? I haven't been out today. I was waiting. Seems when I was young, I was always waiting for something to happen. I thought the waiting would stop when I grew up, but it never has." She smiled at Jan and said, "It's nice to walk in the evening. I never get tired of these Arizona sunsets, do you?

  "I'm sort of in a hurry tonight. I'm going to a party," Jan said, thinking uneasily that she still had a lot to do to get ready for it.

  "Well, how about I walk you home? I'd just like to say hello to that sweet horse of yours. I won't stay but a minute."

  Mattie was not to be denied. She swept through the living room, where five old ladies who were waiting for their dinners to be served were now staring at the TV screen. Gleefully, Mattie called out to them, "My young friend's going for a walk with me before supper. Be right back."

  Amelia, who had come inside, looked up and shook her head as if she thought Mattie's enthusiasm was silly. Jan felt slightly foolish to have so much fuss made over her meager attentions, and she was impatient to get ready for the party now, but she couldn't hurt Mattie's feelings by telling her not to come.

  Dove was standing in the middle of his corral. His ears hung low and the elegant head he always held so high was down beside his bad leg. "Oh, Dove, look at you," Jan said.

  His dulled brown eyes met hers. Dove had become one unhappy horse.

  "Oh, my!" Mattie said. "It's hard to see an animal suffer, especially a horse. It's a good thing he's going to have that operation. When will it be?"

  "As soon as the bank gives Mom the loan, she'll call the vet and they'll schedule it," Jan said.

  "Well, anything I can do, you let me know," Mattie said. "My goodness, you are something, thinking of me and my birthday when you've got trouble like this."

  While Jan curried and brushed Dove, Mattie stayed, talking
at him, and Dove seemed to cheer up listening to her chirp away. Just having Mattie there while she attended to Dove made Jan feel better, too. But the sun was sitting on the humps of the low mountains to the west, and in a few minutes it would be dark.

  "I'd best get back," Mattie said.

  "I'll go with you," Jan said.

  "No, you don't have to. I'm pretty steady on my feet. Just when I have my spells I'm not so good. But I'm fine today."

  Jan watched Mattie march back across the field. Halfway across she faltered, and tilted as if she might fall. Jan sprinted to catch up and took her arm.

  "Nothing wrong. I just took a misstep, that's all," Mattie said. She didn't try to keep Jan when they got back to the house. "You go along now," she said. "And thanks for everything. You made my birthday something special."

  Jan was wearing the matador outfit and wondering where her mother was when she heard the truck pull up outside. She put soup on to heat for another soup-and-sandwich supper. It was fortunate she'd set the burner on low. Otherwise, she might have let the soup boil over, because what her mother had to tell her blanked everything from her mind.

  "The bank turned me down on the loan," Mom said. "They claim I don't have enough collateral left with what else I owe. I argued, but—" Mom's face was screwed up in pained apology.

  Jan couldn't meet her mother's eyes. She said, "No loan? Then what about the operation?"

  "I don't know, Jan. We'll try and think of something else."

  But there wasn't anything else they could do. Jan stood frozen in a black panic. She was still lost in it when Lisa came to the door to pick her up for the party. Both Lisa and the party seemed remote now, beyond the range of Jan's emotions or understanding.

  "You ready?" Lisa said. "Hey, I like your costume. You're a matador, right?"

  Lisa had on a black dress with veils and spangles. "I'm a witch," she said when Jan just stood there without saying anything.

  Lisa's frown of confusion activated Jan. "I can't go," she said abruptly. "Something went wrong and I just can't go. I'm sorry, Lisa. I'm sorry, but—Tell Brittany I'm sorry, too, will you?"

  "What's the matter?" Lisa asked.

  Jan opened her mouth and closed it again. Lisa had arranged for her mother go out of her way to pick Jan up. Jan owed her some explanation, but if she tried to tell the whole story, she'd break down and cry. "I just can't go," she said. "I'm really sorry." And she closed the door in Lisa's face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nothing felt good to Jan as she cleaned out stalls and fed and watered horses that Saturday after Halloween. A cold weight had settled in her chest. She tried and failed and tried again to think of a way to get the money for Dove's operation now that the bank wouldn't lend it.

  At breakfast, Mom said, "There are loan places that advertise they'll give you money no matter what, but they charge such high interest that we'd never get the loan paid off. We'd likely end up losing the rest of the ranch and Dove in the bargain."

  "Then let's not do that," Jan agreed soberly.

  Sunday morning, after an hour of watching her mother worry her lower lip in silence, Jan suddenly realized that Mom wasn't coming up with a new idea. She was as stumped as Jan was. They were standing on either side of Dove, patting him down and loving him up, but he had retreated too deep into his suffering to be reached. Even his usually shiny coat was dull, and he couldn't seem to hold his head up for long. In desperation Jan said, "I'll call Grandma."

  Mom shook her head. "She won't be willing to help for a horse. If you told her it was you who needed the operation, maybe."

  "I can't lie, Mom. Can I?"

  "No, I expect not. Well, now's a good time to try her. Should be evening in London. Maybe she'll do it for you, seeing as you're her one and only granddaughter."

  Jan hated calling her grandmother in the best of circumstances. That imperious lady spoke in such an accusing way that right after "Hello" she could make Jan feel guilty. When Dad was alive, he'd called his mother dutifully, but he'd spent as little time in her presence as possible. "She hated ranch life, didn't think much of my dad or me, either," he'd said once. Jan had no doubt Grandma felt the same way about her and her mother.

  She punched in the little-used overseas telephone number and perched on a kitchen chair, gripping the receiver while the phone rang.

  "Yes?" Grandma's voice answered on the third ring.

  "This is Jan. How are you, Grandma?"

  "Jan? Is that you?"

  "Yes, it's me." And because she couldn't think of any other small talk, she repeated, "How are you?"

  "Not too well, if you really want to know. It's hard to get up in the morning, and I can't find a way to lie in bed that doesn't pain me. What are you calling about?"

  Jan swallowed and persisted in being polite. "I'm sorry you aren't feeling well. How's your husband—I mean, Grandpa?" She disliked using the term for a man she barely knew, but it was what her grandmother had asked her to call her new husband.

  "No worse, no better."

  "That's too bad," Jan said inadequately.

  "Yes, it is," Grandma said. "And how's school? You're not in trouble, are you?"

  "No. I'm fine. And so is Mom. I'm passing my courses okay. But ... It's my horse."

  "Horse?" Grandma snorted. "It would be a horse. That's all you people out there care about. Well, what's the problem with your horse?"

  "This is Dove, the horse Dad gave me? He's got a bad leg and he needs an operation."

  "How unfortunate. I suppose that means money."

  "Yes. Mom asked the bank, but they won't lend it to her."

  "And no doubt you've already spent what I sent you for your birthday and Christmas."

  "No, Grandma. But I had to pay for the x-rays, and that took all I had."

  Grandma made a sound of disgust. Then she said what she'd said many times before. "It's time you and your mother realized that horses are for rich people. You can't afford to live on a ranch. She can't make a living trying to run one. Even your father couldn't make a profit from that dry-bones little place. And now you're in trouble and you expect me to bail you out?"

  "I need a thousand dollars, maybe more," Jan admitted.

  She wasn't surprised when her grandmother answered promptly. "Don't expect to get it from me. I haven't got money to waste. And fixing up that animal just means something else will happen to it to cause more expense. Sorry." But she didn't sound sorry.

  "I hope you feel better soon, Grandma," Jan said quietly. And she hung up.

  When her mother asked her if she'd made the phone call, Jan nodded. "You were right. She wouldn't lend us anything—not for a horse." And probably not for us, either, Jan thought privately.

  On Monday in school, Jan found Brittany talking animatedly to a group of kids perched on desks around her. Timidly, Jan tapped Brittany on the shoulder and said, "I'm sorry I didn't get to your party Friday. I really wanted to come. But something happened with my horse, and I just had to deal with it."

  The minute Brittany looked up at her, Jan could see by the coldness in her eyes that any liking Brittany had had for her was gone. "Well, you missed a good party," Brittany said. She paused and added with disdainful emphasis, "because of your horse." Then she turned her back on Jan and leaned toward her group. "Wasn't that hysterical when Mark's wig dropped in the punch?"

  The others laughed with her.

  Jan backed away. It hurt to have lost the one friend she'd had in school. Although there was still Lisa. But Lisa wasn't in homeroom, and Jan didn't know where she might be. If she could just find Lisa and explain what had happened, it might put things right again between them. Last Friday night, Jan had been too upset to explain anything.

  Lisa walked in after first-period class had started and handed the teacher an excuse slip about a dentist appointment.

  "I need to talk to you," Jan said to her in the hall during change of class.

  "I don't have time now," Lisa said.

  At lunchtime,
Jan got in line behind Lisa to buy milk and an apple. Lisa turned and said accusingly, "My mother was mad at me for making her drive so far out of the way to pick you up—and then you didn't come. What's wrong with you? Is it me you don't like? Or are you just antisocial?"

  "I couldn't—I just couldn't go to a party that night, Lisa. I'm sorry. It wasn't you. I mean, you've been very nice to me, and—" Jan swallowed and got stuck in the knot of excuses.

  "Then why didn't you call or something?" Lisa asked. "You made me get yelled at. My mom hates driving at night. I only offered because I thought—Well, you live near me and nobody much else does. But I guess you don't need friends."

  Jan caught her breath. "Yes, I do," she said, but not soon enough for Lisa to hear her. She had handed the cashier her money and bounced off toward Brittany's table.

  Jan ate alone at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria. She felt like a pariah. Well, she deserved to be. If only she had her father's skill with people! He would have sweet-talked Lisa out of her anger. Of course, Dad wouldn't have closed the door in Lisa's face Friday night, either. He had been graceful in social situations. He wouldn't have tromped all over people's feelings the way his daughter did.

  That night again Jan couldn't sleep. She pulled on her boots over her bare feet, to protect against any scorpions still aboveground now that the summer's heat had gone, and went out to the barn. The air was thick with the ripe smell of manure and hay and warm horseflesh. Jan breathed deeply, straining to hear in the stillness the sounds of animals muttering and sighing in their sleep. Few things made her feel more peaceful than a barn full of horses at night.

  She walked out the door and there was Dove lying under the shed roof at the barn end of his pipe corral. She slipped between the bars and went to him. Normally, he'd get up to greet her as soon as he sensed her presence. Tonight he just lay on his side with his hurt leg stuck at an awkward angle across his other front leg. She touched his head, afraid that he might not be breathing, but his eyelashes tickled the edge of her palm as he blinked.